Ripples Around the World
by CharlesTheBold
Summary: Though physically separated, Joan and her friends find themselves united in the same complex mission. Please Review.
1. No Contact

**RIPPLES AROUND THE WORLD**

_(Disclaimer: I have no business connection with JOAN OF ARCADIA. My only purpose in writing this story is to have fun and maybe share it. _

_(Author's Note: This story is part of a series that takes place in the year after the show ended. A listing of the other stories is on my profile. The main events that have happened since May 2005 are _

_Joan has married Adam and let him into the secret._

_Luke and Grace are also in the secret, and they have become lovers. Thanks to a divine favor, they can sometimes share dreams even when physically separated._

_Joan and Adam are at a small Pennsylvania college, Luke is at Harvard, and Grace is working for an international famine-relief agency_

_ At the Girardi home, Helen knows Joan's secret but has not decided yet what to do about it. Kevin has married Sister Lily and the couple are expecting a baby._

**Chapter 1 No Contact**

_**An encrypted Email from Grace Polonski to Luke Girardi, dated Octover 21, 2006:**_

Hey, dude.

Your encryption system is awesome. Finally I can talk about visits from G-d without using code like "You-know-who", like the characters in HARRY POTTER.

Of course we can also communicate when we share dreams (although that in itself is a different kind of communication…), but I'm reluctant to try that now. I'm rooming with Madame Marque, the Frenchwomen you met in Italy, the day you fell off the horse (yeah, I know that you don't want to be reminded about that). I don't know whether or not I talk in my sleep, but if I do, she's likely to overhear some really weird stuff when we make love. Try to not to get too horny. And even if you do, don't try finding another girl, or I'll turn our next shared dream into a nightmare.

Well, on to practical stuff.

We've finally landed in Rasselasa, the site of our first project. The first sight of the capital was startling. I had heard the country was very poor, but here in the capital I can see skyscrapers and superhighways, and people carrying around cellphones and laptops. Madame says that it's a matter of transportation and infrastructure. The capital is prosperous because it's connected to the outside world. It's the hinterland, where transportation is poor, that needs food. Being able to grow the food rather than import it over poor roads is just what they need, and so the situation is tailor-made for our agency. No wonder they wanted to be sure I could ride a horse or other animal in an emergency.

But that's not the real reason I'm writing. Something weird has happened.

We were about to get on the plane in Rome when a stewardess summoned me. I asked if they was something wrong with my baggage. She went "it does have something to do with baggage, Grace."

The first name clued me in: this was a Stewardess G-d. I guess it made sense, her descending from the sky all the time, haha. Anyway I said "Do I have to go on a mission now? I'm busy!"

"This will be easy. Just watch for a maroon briefcase with a chipped side."

"Can't You do that? You're all-seeing."

"Just watch."

"Am I supposed to pick it up?"

"Just watch."

"Wow, You're full of revelations today. All right, I'll watch."

Well, I watched. And while we were waiting for a bus to take us to a local hotel, I spotted it. An Asian-looking man with a beard was carrying it. I kept an eye on him, but he disappeared into a men's room, where I definitely couldn't follow him. A few minutes later I saw the case again, BUT A DIFFERENT GUY WAS CARRYING IT. European, thin and he looked very nervous, like he was up to something.

I was tempted to walk up and ask him where he got it, but there were several reasons not to. It wasn't part of G-d's instructions; She said "Just watch". The guy looked on edge, and suppose he was armed? Besides, I didn't want to look crazy, my first hour in a new country. That's happened to Joan often enough. So I let him go.

Well, I just watched, and now I'm confused. Was I supposed to do something more? What is going on, and why is G-d concerned about it? I don't know, so I decided to write you. You can discuss it with Joan and the others if you like. But I'd delete the remark about your being horny, if I were you.

--- Grace

_**An encrypted Email from Luke Girardi to Grace Polonski, dated Octover 22, 2006:**_

Yeah, it sounds weird. It might be total innocent, but if so, why would God want you to watch it?

If something sinister is going on, I can make some guesses, based on what Dad has told me about his work. I suppose the first guy has smuggled contraband through customs somehow, and he wants to deliver it to the second guy, without attracting suspicion. So he goes to the men's room, puts the briefcase in a corner, and does his business. A few minutes later another guy finishes doing HIS business, and picks up the briefcase. The guys never meet, and they may not even know what each other look like. Nobody else would notice, unless their attention was on the briefcase, as yours was. But why God wanted you to see it and do nothing, I don't know.

I wouldn't feel guilty about fluffing it. You did what God told you to. I suppose there will be ripples down the road (oops, that's a mixed metaphor).

And don't worry about my finding another girl. All girls pale compared to you. Though don't tell Joan or Lily that I said that. I know you hate all that mushy stuff, so I'll stop there.

Looking forward to our next dream, whenever it comes ---

---- Luke

TO BE CONTINUED.

_(Author's Note: the nation of Rasselasa doesn't exist. I invented it so that I would be free to make up details for the story)_

_(Author's Note: Grace's spelling of "God" is a practice of some Jewish denominations, obeying the Biblical injunction never to speak or write the name of God. Grace changed her last name from Polk to Polonski on graduating from high school)_


	2. Contrary Opinion

**RIPPLES AROUND THE WORLD**

**Chapter 2 Contrary Opinion**

_**An encrypted Email from Joan Girardi-Rove to Helen Girardi, dated October 22, 2006:**_

Hi, Mom.

Luke sent me an Email that Grace sent to him. I've attached it. It has to do with a mission from God that isn't clear. This business of swapping cases of contraband – do you think that you could ask Dad if Luke is right, without giving away the source of our information?

On other matters, yeah, I'm sort of getting over the shock of what Hunter and the others tried to do to me. I still get a bit nervous whenever I see a mobile home and remember how I was locked inside one for a day. And I can't try to forget it, because I'll have to testify when Hunter and the others go on trial. And I'm worried about what Hunter will say when they question him about motive. If he starts talking about God, then I really won't know what to say.

---- Joan.

_**An encrypted Email from Helen Girardi to Joan Girardi-Rove, dated October 22, 2006:**_

I will try to figure out a way to present it to Will, but it will be difficult, since I can't explain just why Grace was focusing on that briefcase. To Will the spy theory may look like another piece of Grace's melodramatic imagination, like her "escape" on horseback last year.

Besides, there's another matter that has nothing to do with Grace. I hate the matter of not being honest with Will. And what's the point, anyway? Your "Friend" already knows the answer. Why not ask him?

--- Mom.

_**A second encrypted Email from Joan Girardi-Rove to Helen Girardi, dated October 22, 2006:**_

It's always been like this. He'll give me a clue and I'm supposed to figure out the rest.

_**An encrypted Email from Helen Girardi to Joan Girardi-Rove, dated October 23, 2006:**_

I spent the night thinking of this before writing back, Joan, because what I say may upset you. But I simply don't like the way you let your relationship evolve. Your friend knows everything, but he lets information out in dribbles. In any other situation, I'd call it a dominance game. .

Your friend came to you when you had just arrived in Arcadia and had no local friends yet. When you were at the midst of adolescence and was unsure what to do with your life. When your father and I were pre-occupied with Kevin's rehab, and perhaps ignoring you and Luke without realizing it at the time. In short. when you were vulnerable. And he gave you a friend, a goal in life, maybe even a substitute parent. And in return you've been willing to do almost anything for him.

But now you're an adult, and a wife. You shouldn't let yourself be manipulated so much. I'm not going to drag Will into this. Tell your friend that if he wants you to chase after a briefcase, you need more information.

---- Your mother.

_**An encrypted Email from Joan Girardi-Rove to Helen Girardi, dated October 23, 2006:**_

I see where you're coming from, but you're acting like He was some nosy neighbor. But this is God we're talking about.

_**An encrypted Email from Helen Girardi to Joan Girardi-Rodated October 23, 2006:**_

Is that different? I've been trying to get my thoughts about God straight for years, most recently with Lily's help, but I keep not making up my mind. There are two ways to judge God. There is "God works in mysterious ways", as the old Isaac Watts hymn says. That you can't judge him because he is beyond human understanding, and whatever he does must be right. Or you can consider him the perfectly Good being, who always obeys his own morality even when humans fall short. I'd resent it if some other woman tried to supplant me as your mother. I still don't like it even when God does it.

_**An encrypted Email from Joan Girardi-Rove to Helen Girardi, dated October 24, 2006:**_

OK, now it was my turn to lie awake thinking. I love you, Mom! He hasn't supplanted you, and He's not dominating me. I help Him out of my own free will.

--- your loving Joan.

_**An encrypted Email from Helen Girardi to Joan Girardi-Rove, dated October 24, 2006:**_

Fine. You follow your free will and I'll follow mine. And my will is that I won't lie to my husband unless God gives me a very good reason – and at the moment I can't even think about what a good reason might be.

But let's not keep arguing, Joan. I've been so proud of you this year! Getting married even when Adam got cold feet, finding our roots in Europe, triumphing in that play, and standing up to those thugs.

_**An encrypted Email from Joan Girardi-Rove to Helen Girardi, dated October 24, 2006:**_

I think I have you and Dad to thank for a lot of that. But I think I can thank HIM as well.

OK, Luke and Grace and Adam and I will work on the mystery on our own, and I won't drag you into it.

My guess is that another briefcase is going to pop up very shortly----

TO BE CONTINUED

_(Author's Note: the action will resume in the next chapter.)_


	3. Second Sighting

**RIPPLES AROUND THE WORLD**

**Chapter 3 Second Sighting**

_**An encrypted Email from Luke Girardi to Grace Polonski, dated October 24, 2006:**_

Grace, you mentioned that the maroon briefcase I had a chipped corner. What exactly did it look like?

_**An encrypted Email from Joan Girardi-Rove to Luke Girardi, dated October 25, 2006:**_

So I've sent you my Email traffic with Mom. What do you think?

_**An encrypted Email from Luke Girardi to Joan Girardi-Rove, dated October 25, 2006:**_

She's definitely bitter. She went through a dreadful experience when she was basically our age, and she never has understood why God did not protect her. I don't understand either. For that matter, I don't understand why God let Ryan Hunter's fiancée die. Not only was it tragic in itself, but it turned Hunter into an enemy, when it could have been prevented. But unlike Mom and Hunter – maybe just because I haven't undergone such a terrible trauma – I'm willing to keep on with the missions, because they HAVE done some good.

In a practical level, I don't think we need for Mom to talk to Dad, because something happened to me yesterday.

I need to give you some background. As you may remember, I've been working on the theory of a D.N.A. variation called G.N.A. --- Grace's Nucleic Acid. I started out just with computer simulations, but there was some biologists at the school who wanted to try out experiments. There's a company near M.I.T., MendelLabs, that has a machine for analyzing genetic code, and the company has a joint-venture contact with the university. So I got a pass to their building.

Anyway, a couple of days ago I had a new idea for classifying G.N.A. codes, and I got so excited about it that I decided to visit the lab the instant I finished my computer program, even though it was in the evening. So I got a cab to the labs and got in with my electronic pass. I didn't happen to tell anybody that I was coming.

As I was approaching the room with the machine, I heard a woman say: "We need to know whether they used the Lafleur process or the Bloomberg process, but the analysis will tell us." I knows that's gobbledygook to you, but I had heard the term "Lafleur process" before. It was in one of the biology articles from Grace's agency. She showed it to me while I was tutoring her on genetics. But her agency doesn't have any connections here in the Boston area. Maybe it's a completely different application of the process. But it got my attention.

Then I heard a man say, quite sharply, "Who's there?"

I said, "My name's Luke Girardi" and I held up my pass. The man and woman looked at each other, and the woman said, "Fine, you just startled us, because it's night and we thought the building was empty except for us". I said that I wanted to use the machine, but I was willing to wait until they were done. They said, no, they were just finishing up – which is odd, because I had heard them talking about needing that analysis.

Anyway, they took their sample out of the machine and cleared the instructions. Then the man walked to a corner of the lab and put it in a maroon briefcase. AND IT HAD A CHIP IN ITS CORNER, just like the one Grace spotted.

By then I knew that something odd was going on, but I thought it would be a bad idea to look suspicious. So I just tried to look like the eager young nerd obsessed with his research (and please don't tell me I look like that all the time) until the pair had left, and they seemed to be leaving rather hurriedly. Only then did I realize that I didn't know their names, but I had told them mine.

After all, two maroon briefcases in vastly separated countries of the world might be just a coincidence, but why would both be chipped? After all, it's not cool to carry around a damaged briefcase, and there are all sorts of stores in the Boston area where they could have bought a replacement. UNLESS THE CHIPPED MAROON BRIEFCASE IS INTENDED TO BE RECOGNIZABLE, as in Grace's story. And I can't imagine two groups having the same gimmick. So is this pair related to the smugglers that Grace saw?

I got so intrigued about that, that I stopped my own experiment, and looked around the lab to see if the pair had left clues around. No luck. And there's nothing inherently suspicious about their being in the lab, if they had a proper pass. But it just struck me as odd.

The chipped-off area that I saw was gray, and roughly triangular, running about two inches down the side and one across the top. I Emailed Grace and asked her for more details on one she saw, but she hasn't replied yet. I know she's headed for a primitive area where it may be difficult to get online.

Meanwhile I've tried to investigate a few other things. I described the couple to my professors and asked casually if they knew them; no such luck. I suppose I could get the lab security people to trace the electronic passes, but I'd have to give a good reason. I can't just say "because they had a maroon briefcase". Anyway, that's how things stand, and you can bet I'll keep my eyes open.

--- Luke.

_**An encrypted Email from Grace Polonski to Luke Girardi, dated October 26, 2006:**_

Wow, we've really been roughing it. I've had my ass in a saddle all day. Haven't been able to get online, and don't have much time even now. We're in a camp and they've rigged up a radio that can transmit up to a satellite, and I could only beg a few minutes. Could we try the dream thing tonight? I really want to talk. And other things.

The chipped area? Sort of a grayish triangle, 2 centimeters by 5 (I've been out of the States so long that I think in metric now, but I know science geeks use metric too). Longer down the side than on top. Why?

TO BE CONTINUED


	4. Strange BedFellows

**RIPPLES AROUND THE WORLD**

**Chapter 4 Strange Bedfellows**

_**From Luke Girardi's encrypted diary, dated October 27, 2006**_

The dream world is very vivid, but it has one problem: nothing physical can be brought back, neither a souvenir or any notes. So I've decided to write a diary of whatever happens there, so that it won't be forgotten.

Because of the time zone difference, Grace and I had to be sure to be asleep at the right times: it meant an early bedtime for me and probably a very late-night dream for her.

In my dream I was in a darkened bedroom, with little visible but a bed illuminated by a couple of lamps to the side. That's minimalist dreaming; God obviously knew what we had in mind.

Grace was there. We hugged each other tightly for almost half a minute. Then Grace backed off and started dropping her clothes on the floor. I followed suit and my suit followed. We hugged each other again, naked, and sank down on the bed. Then – well, I don't have to go into details. I remember them vividly, and nobody else will be reading this.

Afterwards, we snuggled up in the bed. No point in getting dressed again, because our real clothes were back in the waking world. "You seemed pretty eager for this reunion," I remarked.

I think Grace blushed, though I couldn't tell in the dark. My only indication was her cheeks, which were resting on my chest, heated slightly. "It wasn't plain eagerness. I was afraid somebody might wake me up in the camp, and I wanted to get the important stuff over with."

"I think just talking is important too. I want to share your life. What's the mission like?"

"I haven't gotten to the destination yet. It's a valley, known in English as the Great Rift Valley."

"Probably where two continental plates join."

"Dunno. The big problem is that the mountains around them are almost impassible. So far they haven't built a modern road through them. We had to stop on the far side of the range and transfer all our stuff to horses and pack animals. It was rather weird, packing my laptop on the back of a pony. 19th and 21st century technology all mashed together. But the big problem is that, when crops fail, it's hard for the government to ship food in, and they are threatened by famine. And the poverty of the region makes the problem worse; setting up proper transport is expensive."

"Seems that the best solution would be to move out of the valley."

"Yeah, I thought of it, too, and asked Madame. It's a cultural thing. She says that in America we're used to moving around. Your ancestors came from Italy; your family came to Arcadia just 3 years ago, and you're going to college in Massachusetts. My family emigrated from Poland. But the people of the valley have been there for centuries, and have a bond with the land. If they did move to the capital, they'd be landless refugees, cut off from their crucial roots."

It was hard to relate to a "bond with the land" idea; I thought of the world in terms of a science that was the same anywhere. "Well, she's the expert, I guess."

"But tell me if you've heard anything else about that briefcase."

"I don't want to distract you from important stuff."

"I WANT to be distracted! I've got another day of riding ahead of me. You can't play with your electronic gizmo while guiding your horse. Yeah, the mountain scenery gets spectacular sometimes, but the rest of the time there's nothing to look at but the rumps of the horses ahead of you. Tell me."

"Okay." So I told her about the visit to the lab.

"You think something sinister is going on?"

"Can't tell. I mean, it seemed nice of them to let me use the machine immediately. But they didn't wait for me to finish so that they could resume work. They didn't even ask how long I needed it, so they could come back later. Instead they just left the scene, without leaving their names. As if they were trying to stay below the radar."

"Would you have been suspicious if you hadn't seen the briefcase?"

"Good question. I don't know. But God must have called attention to the briefcase for a reason."

"She was talking to me."

"Yes, but where are you more likely to see somebody with a briefcase – a primitive farm or the Boston metro area? I think it was a message to all of us."

"What will you do?"

"I don't know yet. I'm thinking of hacking into the lab security files, and see who's allowed to get in at night. But if I get caught, the lab is likely to complain to the university that we're violating the agreement. And how could I explain that I was carrying out a divine directive, not trying to assault their lab? I could get expelled."

"Better not risk it, Luke."

"Is this Miss Rebel talking?"

"There are degrees in this thing, Luke. I think that someday you're destined to discover something great for humanity – but only if you stay in school." Suddenly Grace shook, as if having a seizure.

"What's happening?"

"I think somebody is trying to wake me up – bye, Luke."

She hugged me tightly. One moment it was very physical, her breasts pressing into my chest. The next moment she had vanished into thin air. And then I woke up.

I was back in my dorm room in Cambridge, of course. My roommate seemed fast asleep on the other side; he apparently hadn't heard anything odd. I tiptoed to the computer, logged onto my diary, and started typing this in before I could forget anything important.

But just how important is any of this?


	5. Adam and Forbidden Fruit

**RIPPLES AROUND THE WORLD**

**Chapter 5 Adam and Forbidden Fruit**

_**An encrypted Email from Adam Rove to Grace Polonski, dated November 3, 2006:**_

I know that the idea behind the encryption system is to enable us all to talk together about our secrets. But there's something that I can't discuss with Jane. You've known me for years, and you believe in taking a stand, so maybe you will understand.

It seems that I'm surrounded by people who help other people. Mr. G. is a policeman, risking his life to protect society. Mrs. G. is a teacher, acquainting the next generation with art. Sister Lily counsels people in trouble, and so does your father. Even in our generation, Jane has been producing good ripples for three years. Luke is confident that he'll invent something useful some day. You're trying to save people from famine.

Me? I paint. And I paint what I like. I didn't used to care if anybody liked it, and when I did care, it was because Mrs. G advised me that satisfying other people's tastes was the only way to make money of my art. Either that or take a non-art day job. I've never been into political art, though I suppose you have.

It's time for me to do something, and maybe this briefcase business has given me an opportunity.

Everybody else is being passive, waiting for another briefcase to show up. But I have another idea. I'm scheduled to go to Boston tomorrow, to visit the art museums for a term project. Jane can't come with me because she's writing a paper of her own, for her law course. I did promise to drop in on Luke, get to meet his roommate, etc.

Suppose I buy a briefcase of my own, and damage the corner of it, the way Luke described. Then wander around near M.I.T. in Cambridge. I might attract some attention from the guys we're trying to find. If the mountain won't come to Mohammed, Mohammed can go to the mountain instead. (I hope that proverb isn't politically incorrect nowadays).

--- Rove

_**An encrypted Email from Grace Polonski to Adam Rove, dated November 4, 2006:**_

Damn you.

It was hours before I could get time on the communications apparatus – they're busy setting up a satellite connection so that the locals can get in better touch with the rest of the world. Then I found your Email and hit the ceiling. Were you counting on the delay? I hope this is getting to you in time.

DON'T PLAY THE HERO, Rove. We don't know who we're dealing with. They may be mere couriers who wouldn't dream of descending to violence. Or they may be murderers who'd kill at the drop of a hat. Don't risk your life like that. Is it really the mission that you care about, or is it just ego?

You wanna be a real hero? Come out and see how the locals live their lives. Plough the earth in the hot sun, scatter s*** around, and hope that the crops come up. Repeat year after year. Don't act like you're the hero of a TV show, where everything gets solved and tied up at the end of an hour.

I don't like being a snitch, but I'm really tempted to tell your Jane, and let her tell you what an idiot you're being. And maybe kick your ass for good measure.

--- Polonski

_**An encrypted Email from Luke Girardi to Grace Polonski and Joan Girardi-Rove, dated November 4, 2006:**_

Wow, Adam had a really clever idea, and I should have thought of it. After all, I'm the one who has been taught for years that he can't just stare at the universe; you have to do experiments to find out its secrets.

Adam found a maroon briefcase in an office-supply store, and he "accidentally" left it in a café near M.I.T., empty. When he came back from the art museum, the briefcase was gone and a slightly different one had been left in its place. And it wasn't empty.

There are some organic-chemistry diagrams inside. I don't recognize them – organic chemistry is a huge subject – but I think one of them is a catalyst used in SEEDS' LaFleur process – that's precisely what that the couple in the lab were testing for.

My theory? I think the couple are part of an organization that's trying to steal SEEDS' biotechnology. I think they came back to the lab after I was out of the way, and completed their analysis. Then they tried to pass it to somebody else via the abandoned-briefcase trick, as they did at the airport. But instead of their intended recipient getting the papers, WE got them.

Grace, I've scanned them in and attached a copy. Can you ask your SEEDS associates if they recognize them?

_**An encrypted Email from Grace Polonski to Luke Girardi, dated November 4, 2006:**_

I'm starting to agree with Mrs. G. I don't want to be involved with this any more. When you see dirt-poor people trying to survive – someday soon I'll send you a full description – all this business about floating briefcases sounds pretty trivial. Unless G-d pops up and gives me a good reason to get involved again. Plus I don't want to encourage Rove and his grandstand stunts.

_**An encrypted Email from Joan Girardi-Rove to Luke Girardi, dated November 4, 2006:**_

(angry typos included)

Is my darling husban still there well tell him he better stay away until Ive chilled. How dar he pull a stunt like this and not tell me? Doesnt he no how dangerus life can bee? I got stuck in a junkard once with a lunatik with a gun. And my best frend got stabbed to deth cause somebody blakmaled her to get some drugs. And I got kidnapt last mont by som real crazys. This isnt a game!!! I hope you didnt put him up to thiss, Luke because if you did then screw U. Better yet tell Adam no screwing for a while.

Adam isnt own his on anymore. We're husband and wif, one flesh, and I lov him and if he comez near me the nxt cupple of days Ill beat the crepes out of him.

--- Joan

_**An unencrypted Email from Luke Girardi to Kevin Girardi, dated November 4, 2006.**_

Kev, can you call me? We've got a problem.

TO BE CONTINUED


	6. Crossed Wires

**RIPPLES AROUND THE WORLD**

**Chapter 6 Crossed Wires**

**Illegal transcript of a conversation between Luke Girardi and Kevin Girardi, dated November 4, 2006.**

"Hi, little bro. Got your message."

"Hey. How's Lily?"

"Fine, she just had her checkup. Interesting thing: she told me that, back in medieval times, there was a superstition that if a nun or former nun had a baby, it would be unnatural and turn out to be a monster. She's not worried about it though. But history records that Martin Luther and his wife were really worried about it when she was having her first baby."

"Martin Luther married a nun?"

"Yeah. Both of them had taken vows of chastity, but decided to violate them after they left the Church. The story also said they asked a notary to watch the first time they – uh, you know. They weren't being kinky, they just wanted to get it definitely on record that they had broken their vows. It was a way of saying nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah to the Church."

"You must learn a lot of weird stuff in a nunnery."

"Apparently. Anyhow, what's up, Luke? You asked me to call."

"Oh. Yeah. Joan is mad at me, and at Adam. It's about a briefcase."

"A _briefcase?_"

"Yeah. You see, Grace saw a couple of guys exchange a briefcase—"

"Isn't Grace on the other side of the world?"

"Yeah—"

"So why would that make Joan mad?"

"Let me explain, Kevin. Grace saw a couple of guys exchange a briefcase in an airport; she thinks they were smuggling. A few days later I saw a similar briefcase in a lab, and the owners were acting suspicious. So Adam got a briefcase—"

"A _third _briefcase?"

"Yeah."

"Whatever for?"

"As bait for the smugglers. That's why Joan's mad. She doesn't want him to attract the attention of smugglers."

"Wait, wait, back up a bit. So Grace thinks she saw smugglers. I know you love her, Luke, but isn't this the girl who thought Homeland Security was after her last year? And thought the perfect escape was to borrow a friend's horse and ride off into the sunset?"

"Actually she rode south."

"Whatever. My point is, she has a lurid imagination where politics are concerned."

"But I saw the same type briefcase in the lab, Kevin."

"Coincidence. Luke, didn't you tell me once that, in a group of thirty people, at least one pair is likely to share a birthday?"

"Um, yeah."

"Coincidences happen all the time, and conspiracy theorists jump on that sort of thing. But I work for a newspaper, Luke. I started as a fact checker. One thing we learn early is to weed out coincidences from genuine connections, and let the tabloids handle the coincidences."

"But – "

"My advice is, tell Joan that there are no smugglers. Adam was in no danger. It was all Grace's imagination."

"Yeah. Thanks a lot for the help, Kevin."

_**From Luke Girardi's encrypted diary, dated November 4, 2006**_

Damn. I forgot to tell Kevin about the chemistry document in the briefcase, which might have convinced him that we were on to something.

But the real problem was something else. I couldn't tell Kevin about the real source of our information: God. With that crucial tidbit missing, naturally he jumped to the conclusion that Grace had imagined the whole thing.

I'm starting to really understand what Joan went through the first couple of years. Having a perfect source of information, in God, but unable to explain it to anybody. So everybody thought she was crazy.

I haven't ever had to feel that isolated. If the communications were available, I could always talk to Joan, Adam, or Grace, maybe Mom. But now Mom and Grace don't want to get involved, and Joan is mad at Adam and me, and Adam is stumped about how to reassure his wife. And God only appears when He chooses, and he isn't choosing right now.

Adam has to go back to attending classes at Baconia. Either he'll soothe Joan enough to go back to their flat, or he can stay at his studio, or maybe move in with the guys from the drama club. I advised him not to try any other stunts with the briefcase; I can take care of it from now on.

I still hope to get the chemical formulae identified and see if they were stolen from SEEDS. Grace won't cooperate, but she's not my only contact. My cousins the Cavallos tested some of the genetically altered wheat at their farm in North Carolina, and maybe they can put me in touch with the SEEDS offices.

_**An unencrypted Email from Thomas Jimmeson to Will Girardi, dated November 5, 2006.**_

We've never spoken or exchanged Emails before, but I'm Luke's roommate, Tom. I found your Email address on Luke's computer; it was one of the few things that wasn't encrypted.

Mr. Girardi, you must contact the Cambridge police immediately. Somebody broke into out room and beat up Luke!


	7. Aftermath to a Mugging

**RIPPLES AROUND THE WORLD**

**Chapter 7 Aftermath to a Mugging**

_**An unencrypted Email from Sergeant Malone, Cambridge City Police, to Will Girardi, Arcadia City Police, November 5, 2006**_

This communication is off the record, but I heard how you helped our colleagues across the river last year, and I thought I'd relieve your mind a bit.

Your son is not badly hurt. One blow to the head, but no concussion, according to the doctors. The other problem is a sprained arm, which should heal in a few days. That's the preliminary report; they're keeping him overnight for observation, to be sure the head injury doesn't come worse.

We're bewildered about the motive. There have been no other break-ins of the dorms at Harvard recently. A few items were stolen – a briefcase, a laptop belonging to your son's roommate – but other items, including some money on the dresser, were untouched. Simple robbery doesn't explain it. Your son says he's too confused by the headache and drugs to give us details.

Is there any background that you could give us, about your son's way of life? His roommate, Mr. Jimmeson, says he has a girlfriend but is very secretive about her; hasn't even told Mr. Jimmeson her name. Could there be a drug connection? As I said, this is an unofficial communication, cop to cop. If you want to speak frankly, I'll keep details off the record.

_**An unencrypted Email from Will Girardi, Arcadia City Police, to Sergeant Malone, dated November 5, 2006**_

Thank you for your communication. I cannot think of any motive why anybody would hurt Luke; he's an intelligent, hard-working boy, very focused on the sciences. No drug problem that I know of. There was a wild party a couple of years ago that put several students in the hospital from overdrinking and drug abuse; Luke himself stayed completely clean.

I am rather bewildered by the mention of a girlfriend. Luke had a close relationship with a girl named Grace Polonski, but she has been overseas for several months working for the SEEDS famine-relief agency.

_**An encrypted Email from Joan Girardi-Rove to Adam Rove, dated November 5, 2006:**_

Adam, I'm going to Massachusetts to check on Luke. Please come with me. I promise not to say I told you so. I just want you with me, and know you're safe and sound. Come to the flat about 6:00, and we'll drive there overnight. I've cleared my classes with my professors – family emergency.

_**An encrypted Email from Grace Polonski to Joan Girardi-Rove, Adam Rove, and Helen Girardi, dated November 6, 2006 (local time):**_

I heard second or third hand, from my friends in Rome, that something's happened to Luke. Somebody please tell me what is going on!!!

_**An unencrypted Email from Kevin Girardi to Joan Girardi-Rove, dated November 6, 2006 :**_

I feel terrible about this. Luke called me with a story about stalkers and I thought it was just Grace's lurid imagination.

_**An encrypted Email from Joan Girardi-Rove to Grace Polonski, dated November 6, 2006 :**_

I saw Luke in the hospital, and he's okay. Actually he's been exaggerating the headachy part, trying to stall until he can think of a good story to tell the world. But he told me the entire story.

He stopped by his dorm between classes and caught the burglars in the act. Fortunately that nice roommate, Tom, was elsewhere with his girlfriend. Luke is certain that they were after the briefcase; that's the first thing they grabbed. They also tried to take his laptop, but they took the roommate's by mistake, and Luke was careful not to correct them. He hopes the roommate doesn't find that out.

The beating up was a sort of panic reaction by the burglars, not a deliberate attack. Not that that excuses anything. They grabbed his arm and slammed him against the wall, and he banged his head.

There's a story about a secret girlfriend, but don't worry. You're the secret. Luke pretending that he was dating a girl on campus so people wouldn't think he was a younik or something.

His big worry now is his own computer. The police want it for background evidence, and it has all the kryptonited stuff that we've been exchanging for the last few weeks. I'm going to talk to Dad to see whether he can stop it.

_**An unencrypted Email from Joan Girardi-Rove to Will Girardi, dated November 6, 2006 :**_

Dad, we've got a problem. Luke has been looking into how to kryptonite files, and he came up with a cool allegory, or whatever you call them. He sent it to several of us – Grace, me and Adam, even Mom – and we've been using it for the past few weeks.

Now the police want it, and they'll find the kryptonited files. Luke says they're fairly secure, but a real brain, like that Charlie Epps that you met last year, could break them, and it would get real embarrassing. There's all sorts of private crap in there – sex talk between Luke and Grace, my personal reactions to the kidnapping, even some religious stuff from Mom that she doesn't want Lily to see. Could you see if you could stop them?.

_**An encrypted Email from Helen Girardi to Joan Girardi-Rove, Adam Rove, and Grace Polonski :**_

Okay, I confirmed what Joan said about having private encrypted stuff, and Will persuaded his friends on the local police force not to break into the files. Immediate problem solved, but a big problem is still looming. It looks like we'll have to tell Will about the briefcase business – Kevin may have done so already. I'll have to think up an excuse that won't involve God. Damn it, I hate concealing things from Will. Why can't God give you better directions on how to carry out his missions, or at least tell you what it is all about?

TO BE CONTINUED

_(Author's Note: Will does not know that Luke tried drugs once with Friedmann. He is telling the police the truth as he knows it)_

_(Author's Note: Charlie Epps is the mathematician/detective from the TV series NUMBERS. I had him appear briefly in a previous story NOT WITH A BANG, the same one where Grace panicked and fled on horseback.)_


	8. The Sacred Grove

**RIPPLES AROUND THE WORLD**

**Chapter 8 The Sacred Grove**

_**An encrypted Email from Luke Girardi to Grace Polonski, dated November 8, 2006 :**_

Well, I'm out of the hospital, and the University found a different dorm room for Tom and me. Joan persuaded Dad to keep the laptop away from the investigators, so the secrets are safe. Our story is that you "accidently" saw the transfer of briefcases and told us. If somebody asks you, please confirm it so nobody gets suspicious. I'm looking forward to our next reunion, but right now I have a recurring headache. It might not be as fun as it usually is.

_**An encrypted Email from Grace Polonski to Luke Girardi, dated November 8, 2006 :**_

It's a relief to hear that you're better now, and that your life is getting back to normal (or as normal as it ever gets for you, dork). Yeah, I'll confirm your story if somebody asks, though as I said I'm not much interested. Too many distractions here.

I want to tell you more of my life here. It was a bit of a shock to start with. Conditions here are pretty primitive, and even if we brought a few comforts along, my bosses are reluctant to flaunt them. We don't want to imply a social gap between the locals and us. Fortunately the computer use doesn't count, so I can get online for a few minutes each day. And I shouldn't complain – haven't I criticized the materialist lifestyle all my life? Now I don't have the materials.

We have to keep in mind that what the locals practice are ALTERNATE customs, not "inferior" ones, and then many of them make sense given the local environment. When you are isolated by mountains and poor transportation, it's a bad idea to develop a taste for consumer goods. How long would the twenty-first century lifestyle last in Arcadia if it were cut off from the rest of the country and had to produce its own goods, from blue jeans to computers? And some ideas are just different. As the local culture sees it, the purpose of clothes is not so much to HIDE the body but to PROTECT it. If you feel safe, you can dispense with some of the protection. I've seen some women expose their breasts inside their homes even with guests like us present, and there's nothing sexual or primitive about it. It's a sign that they feel safe, and in fact they wonder why us "Europeans" are so uptight about keeping our shirts on.

I don't mean to complain. There are some definitely positive things in my life here. I have the pleasure of knowing that we're doing something definitely good: saving future lives by insuring the food supply. And there are simple things to enjoy, like friendships.

There's a kid here, named Bonga. His parents died a couple of years ago, drowning during a flood. He doesn't have a particular guardian, it's more like the whole tribe has adopted him, and he's well taken care of. And to him, the SEEDS team are just more guardians.

I let him watch while I was looking stuff up on the Internet, and he was fascinated by the computer. He thought at first I was looking at "things in the box", and was amazed how much was in the box. I tried to explain about images, and about electrical impulses flying through the air – and then I realized that I didn't understand that much about the electrical impulses, I just use them. He got the idea, I think, but during the discussion he asked if the electrical impulses were like "eldila". I asked what eldila were like, and he seemed to be talking about little creatures flying through the air carrying out the will of the Maker. He said that they lived in a grove a few kilometers upriver.

My bosses were interested to hear that: they hadn't learned that part of the local belief system. They asked the leaders if they could visit the grove. It was decided that, tomorrow, one of the bosses and I will take a couple of horses and let Bonga guide us to the grove. There's no rule against outsiders visiting it, as long as they don't desecrate it. The boss, a Frau Leben from Switzerland, will make some anthropological notes – and probably will keep an eye on me to see that I don't violate any taboos. So that's how things stand now. Hope to hear from you soon.

_**An encrypted Email from Luke Girardi to Grace Polonski, dated November 8, 2006 :**_

Hey, do you think you could Email a picture of one of your local lady friends "feeling safe"? ;) Glad to hear that you are making friends. Regarding this Bonga kid – do I detect a bit of maternal instinct?

_**An encrypted Email from Grace Polonski to Luke Girardi, dated November 8, 2006 :**_

Maternal instinct, my ass. I've got better things to do in life at the moment than dream about having your babies. As for the picture, attached you will find one topless photo – of me. I snapped it with my phone-camera after showering off after the trip. Just make sure nobody else sees it.

Anyway, the ride to the grove went well. We were on a narrow trail and had to go single file; a jeep definitely wouldn't have made it. I was in front because I was sharing my mount with Bonga, sitting in front of me. He was thrilled; it was his first time on a horse. The locals have herds but they're for work – drawing plows or wagons – not for riding for fun.

Eventually we reached the grove. At first I couldn't tell was so sacred about it; it just looked like a forest clearing, though even that was a relief after narrow paths and overhanging trees. I was startled to see another woman there already, also on a horse. Then she turned toward me and said "_Shalom,_ Grace." It was Cowgirl God.

She looked different somehow, glowing in an odd way, as if the Presence was shining through the human façade. I had noticed that only once before, in my dream vision to Edenworld. Maybe holy places brought out the God in Her. Even her horse looked weirdly impressive. I have never figured out whether the horse was part of Her image, or had been created for the purpose, or had simply been acquired.

I glanced hastily at Frau Leben, worried about giving away too much. She seemed to be in a trance. For that matter, Bonga seemed strangely still. "Can they hear us?"

"They are each experiencing Me in their own way, Grace. What I say to them is private to them, just as what I am saying to you."

"Which is – what?"

"You've been working hard, Grace. And I see that your instinct has drawn you to another human being that needs contact, without my prompting."

"Um, thank you."

"There's just one thing you need to be doing in addition –"

"The crap about the briefcases?"

She looked amused. "Certainly you have learned by now, Grace, that excrement is not worthless, but a useful part of the growth cycle. But yes, 'the crap about the briefcases'."

"It seems so distant, here in the jungle."

"But everything is connected, Grace. You are a part of Arcadia and a part of the jungle, but not the only link between the two."

"And I suppose that I'm going to have to figure out what that means." I couldn't help the small amount of whining that creep into my voice.

She chose to ignore it though. "Yes. Keep up the good work, Grace, and avoid the bad."

She turned her horse's head away from me and rode off into the woods with that usual wave.

Bonga and Frau Leben were both very weird and quiet during the ride home. Apparently they saw their own epiphanies, and unlike me they aren't used to it. Or maybe God had told them something that they needed to contemplate.

All right, what do we gotta do?

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The word "eldila" is from C.S. Lewis' OUT OF THE SILENT PLANET, and I also borrowed his meaning: tiny creatures who carry out God's will.)_

TO BE CONTINUED


	9. Speculations

**RIPPLES AROUND THE WORLD**

**Chapter 9 Speculations**

_**From Will Girardi's encrypted diary, dated November 8, 2006:**_

I'm going through a terrible time. And yet I can't talk to anybody else about it – not to my family, not to coworkers. On occasion I've even been tempted to get in a confessional and tell a priest, as when I was a little boy, but it would be hypocritical to use a church I don't believe in. I've also been tempted to write to Keith Mars, whose Veronica seems to be a handfull sometimes. But pouring out my feelings here seems best.

The attack on Luke was the worst of it. But in the aftermath, I've found that something more fundamental has gone wrong. A cleavage has developed in our family, and I don't know why.

Luke invented an encryption code much more sophisticated than the standard one I'm using. Fine, it's the sort of challenge that appeals to him. What's odd is who he gave it to: his sister, his two best friends – and Helen. Kevin, Lily, and I seem to outside the charmed circle. And those inside seemed to know something about the burglary, that the rest of us don't. Lily doesn't care, she's excited about having a baby a few months from now, and besides she's relatively new to the family. But Kevin called: he says that Luke told a confusing story about smugglers and a briefcase. Kevin didn't take it seriously then; now he realizes that he should have passed it to me. But at least Kevin is talking to me.

Does it have something to do with religion? Neither Luke nor Joan attends church (unless they got involved at their colleges and didn't tell me) but they do seem to talk a lot about God. And Helen is ambivalent about it. I've always tried to avoid religious conflict in this family. We didn't raise the children to be conventional Catholics but I didn't try to impose my skepticism on them either. Live and let live. But now it may be causing conflict.

Then there's the story Luke's roommate told me: that Luke is sleeping with a girl but won't introduce her to anybody or even give out her name. Maybe he's hiding her from Grace. Maybe she's having his baby, and Luke thought Helen and Joan could help advise them. But I wish he'd come to me.

I know one thing – I know investigative techniques, but I'm not going to use them on my own family. I'll simply have to wait until they're ready to talk.

_**An encrypted Email from Joan Girardi-Rove to Luke Girardi, dated November 8, 2006 **_

Don't worry about Adam and me, we've made up. I'm not going into details, but we had a lot of fun getting reunited last night. I'm still annoyed with him for taking that risk, but mainly I'm happy that he's OK.

I read your Email from Grace; it was fascinating. An encounter with a God on horseback in the depths of the woods – it sounded so much cooler than the ones I've had.

_**An encrypted Email from Helen Girardi to Luke Girardi, dated November 8, 2006 **_

I saw Grace's communication. Sounds like she's getting to be very mature, and I admire what she's doing. But having had three children, methinks the lady doth protest too much when she denies having maternal feelings for that village kid. Sounds like she'll be a fine mother for your children someday.

_**An encrypted Email from Luke Girardi to Helen Girardi, dated November 8, 2006 **_

Mom! Please chill with the "future mother" talk. I've already been mugged once. Do you want Grace to kill me?

_**An encrypted Email from Luke Girardi to Grace Polonski, dated November 8, 2006 **_

I'm glad you've agreed to cooperate, Grace, but let me explain why I think it's important. I have a theory about what's going on.

Biochemistry isn't just doing experiments; there's also a legal side. Your organization, SEEDS, has done research and patented results, like the LaFleur Process. By law anyone else that wants to use the LaFleur Process must pay for the privilege.

But with all this modern technology lying about, it's often easy to reverse-engineer something, find out how it works, and simply redo it without paying the discoverer. I think that's what this Briefcase Gang is doing; they're information thieves.

They're sophisticated – I think they have a rule not to stick together, or even know each other, so that they can't turn each other in. It's called the cell principle, and I've read about it in spy stories, like 1984 and THE MOON IS A HARSH MISTRESS. The briefcases are the key. You see another guy with a maroon briefcase, you know he may be your contact. If you get closer and see that the briefcase doesn't have the special damage, you back off again and nobody suspects anything.

I think the guys I saw in the lab were trying to examine the LaFleur process to steal it. The sample probably came in the briefcase I saw in the lab. Once they got the results, they tried to send them off by looking for an "abandoned" briefcase in some public place near the lab. They ended up putting it in Adam's decoy briefcase.

Unfortunately they know who I am – I gave them my name in the lab, and they could easily trace me through the lab records and the Internet. Once they found that their notes hadn't gotten to their destination, they came after me. I don't know whether I have their only copy of their notes, or whether they were sensible enough to copy them first. If the latter, maybe they were just anxious to find out how much I know. I just hope that they gave up on me when they didn't find the notes.

All this is just the theory. I think you should ask your agency's bosses if it's plausible, and let them know somebody's trying to rob them. I still have the lab notes, and I can send them a copy if SEEDS wants to see them.

_**An encrypted Email from Grace Polonski to Luke Girardi , dated November 9, 2006 (local time) **_

Just a quick message we got a crisis here. I gotta ride out of the valley to a hospital. Bonga has gotten hurt!!!!


	10. Grace's Journey

**RIPPLES AROUND THE WORLD**

**Chapter 10 Grace's Journey**

_**An encrypted Email from Grace Polonski to Luke Girardi , dated November 11, 2006 (local time) **_

Whew! What a journey! But at least I can explain what happened.

It all started when Bonga fell out of a tree. It wasn't a boy's stunt; he was fetching some fruit for the communal meal, and he had done lots of climbing before, so I don't know what went wrong. The doctor with our group set some broken bones, but he said that was some internal damage that he lacked the tools to fix. He wrote it up – some diagnosis that I couldn't understand. So I volunteered to ride Bonga over the mountains to a more modernized area where he could get help.

We talked it out. We decided that I would get over fastest by travelling light – just Bonga and me, with the supplies we needed to get the destination. No pack animals, no wagon. The village offered me one of their best horses, accustomed both to heavy loads and to rough ground. We squeezed all that we could into saddlebags, and I put some more into a knapsack to wear. I couldn't take my laptop, but I did pack in a CD with your encryption program.

Some moments got pretty hairy. Can you imagine trying to stay balanced on a horse's back when it's moving on sloping terrain and you've got a knapsack on your own back? Sometimes I had to lean forward, over Bonga, because I was afraid of falling back over the tail. Center of gravity and top-heaviness, I remember Lischak calling it in AP Physics, but it sounded awfully theoretical when she talked about it, and it was awfully real now. No wonder that the SEEDS trainers – and before that, Cowgirl G-d – made sure that I had good equestrian skills before this started. The mountain scenery might have struck me as beautiful, if I didn't have to think of riding through it.

The worst of it was figuring out how to camp out at night. I WAS going a lot faster than the caravan – which was the whole point – and was able to cut it down to a single night. But I didn't have a tent; it would have been too bulky. Just some blankets for Bonga and me. The weather was fine, fortunately; actually comfortably cool after a hot day. The mountain was pretty unpopulated, people-wise, but I was worried about mountain animals. I managed to get Bonga and me up on a rocky outcropping where they weren't likely to get up. I tethered the horse to a nearby tree with a nosebag and hoped that it would be safe.

Bonga was getting pretty delirious. I gave him water and medicines, but that's the most I could do except provide moral support. I can't report the exact conversation, because it was in a combination of English and the local language, a sort of pidgin. Their real language was very expressive, but I hadn't learnt the nuances yet, and Bonga understood that, even in a fever. I started by assuring him that he was going to be all right.

"Spirit Lady say, trouble come, but then OK."

"Spirit Lady? In the grove?" I wondered if it was a coincidence that both he and I saw a supernatural Woman.

"Yeah. She say, stay with Gres-Ski. She protect you." Gres-ski was how they rendered my name. First and last syllable seemed to be the custom.

"I'm doing my best," I said. "I love you, Bonga."

There was a long silence, and then he said "Big crowd."

"A crowd?"

"Lotta people. Picture machines, and sat-lite things. Me, on stage. You there, other kid."

I suppose that he was hallucinating.

"I say to crowd, clap Gres-ski. She protect me."

"Thank you." Apparently he was dreaming about me getting some big award for getting him to the hospital. Lovely idea, but it was just a dream. My own point of view as more like that line in CASABLANCA: the troubles of two people doesn't amount to more than a hill of beans in the world.

Eventually he fell asleep, and I could feel safe dozing off myself.

The next morning we awoke, and nothing bad had happened to us. I got us back on the horse and we simply trudged on. A lot of that second day was downhill, and my trouble with balance was reversed. Now I had to lean back, while still making sure Bonga stayed on. Fortunately my knapsack touched the saddlebags on the horse's rump and they propped me up, though it wasn't very comfortable for my back, and my butt was getting pretty sore. I kept telling myself, I was over the halfway point – now the two-thirds point --

They were pretty startled in the town when I finally rode in, but I managed to explain things. They stabled my horse, and offered me a place to shower off and sleep while somebody drove Bonga to the capital, but I insisted on staying with him in the car. I did manage to borrow a company laptop and get your encryption program on it before I dropped off to sleep. I couldn't help it; it was so much more comfortable on a cushioned car seat than with my butt in a saddle for hours.

I woke up a few minutes ago, and they said it would be another twenty kilometers to the hospital in the capital. So I decided to Email this to you.

Oh, yeah – SEEDS and the briefcase. I got that message sent off, as I promised. But frankly, it's still not important to me. The important thing is making sure Bonga gets cured.


	11. Fight Back or Not?

**RIPPLES AROUND THE WORLD**

**Chapter 11 Fight Back or Not?**

**Unencrypted Email from Hans Bauer, SEEDS Vice-President, to Grace Polonski, dated November 13.**

Dear Miss Polonski,

Thank you for the information you sent us, and for the trouble that you and your friends have taken to obtain it. Here in Switzerland we are meeting to discuss how to respond to the apparent attempt at theft. However, you and your friends deserve some explanation of the underlying problem, and I hope to give it in this communication.

The goal of SEEDS sounds simple: _Feed the hungry_. Or to be more precise, _help the hungry feed themselves. _We bring our agricultural technology to an area that needs it, show the local population how to use it, then go on to the next problem area. When we started we were hoping to avoid politics altogether. However, that turned out to be impossible.

There was one occasion where a local plantation owner tried to monopolize our technology in his country and sell our grain at high prices. On another, the local government tried to control the distribution of the grain, rewarding loyal villages and denying it to others. We also try to ignore volatile regions in which our workers would be in physical danger, or where they might be the target of bigotry.

There are also purely financial considerations, though that may sound crass to you. We are dependent on donors' money and want to spend it wisely. When we discovered the LaFleur Process and realized that it had commercial applications quite apart from food production, we patented it and sold the rights to fund more missions. I assure you that nobody here is profiteering off the sales. Of course there are some companies who would like to make money off the process and pay us nothing – essentially making money at our donors' expense.

The end result is that there are many nations and entities who would like to have our technology without having to deal with our policies. In some cases we can even sympathize. There was one poor nation that was best by both famine and violent civil war, and we were afraid to expose our workers to the danger. Somebody there stole our technology and used it on to make marginal farmland fertile, and we let it slide – lives were being saved from dying from hunger, and that was the important thing.

These people whom you have encountered, what you call the Briefcase Gang, are most likely mere mercenaries, hired by somebody else to obtain the Lafleur Process and other technology. We are trying to determine who is behind the attempted theft and how we should respond.

In the meantime, I urge you and your friends not to expose yourselves to any more danger. We are grateful for the efforts you made to uncover the thefts, but it should not be your responsibility. It is ours.

On a more personal level, Miss Polonski, we have arranged for you to stay in the capital for a while, working in the local SEED headquarters. The next expedition to the valley is scheduled for two weeks from now; it would be safer for you to wait for it and not try to cross the mountains alone. Besides, your friend Bonga probably needs some familiar nearby while undergoing treatment. Best wishes for you, and our thanks.

**Encrypted Email from Grace Polonski to Luke Girardi, Joan Girardi-Rove, Helen Girardi, and Adam Rove, dated November 13.**

I've attached the Email from the Swiss guy. A bit dry, but I suppose being a vice-president dries you out. At least we have a better idea of what we're dealing with.

**Encrypted Email from Helen Girardi to Luke Girardi, Joan Girardi-Rove, Helen Girardi, and Grace Polonski, dated November 13.**

Things make more sense now. Apparently God wanted Grace to realize that her agency was being robbed, so that she could warn the people in charge. But Mr. Bauer is right: none of you should feel obligated to risk danger any longer, and maybe God never intended you to do that. Drop this briefcase business now. I can give Mr. Bauer's letter to Will; it doesn't give away any secrets.

**Encrypted Email from Grace Polonski to Helen Girardi, cc Luke Girardi, Joan Girardi dated November 14.**

I'm sorry, Mrs. G, but I can't just forget the matter. Before, it seemed distant to me while I was working in the valley, but when they attacked Luke it got personal. We're talking about the bastards that banged Luke's head against the wall. We can't leave it at that, can we? Something needs to be done and just because some Swiss guy tells me to leave it alone… well, you know how stubborn I can be. I can't drop it.

**Encrypted Email from Helen Girardi to Grace Polonski, cc Luke Girardi, Joan Girardi dated November 15.**

I'm urging you to do just that, Grace. Don't treat this situation like a TV show where everything is tied up at the end of the hour and the good guys always win. Something happened to me years ago and wasn't solved until last year. I'm not talking about turning the other cheek; I'm talking about avoiding poking at a possible hornet's nest. We know nothing about how brutal these mercenaries can get. Let the police and your leaders at the agency handle it.

**Encrypted Email from Adam Rove to Luke Girardi dated November 15.**

So that's that? I suppose that it's the artist in me, but I had rather dramatic daydreams of cracking the case ourselves. Not being handed the solution by a manager in Switzerland and told to drop it. Jane is rather ambivalent. That recent kidnapping, and the attack on Luke, has her feeling both ways: nervous about the danger, but also with an itch to fight back.

Luke, could you tell me the name of the store where you got the look-alike briefcase? Don't tell Mrs. G, but I have an idea.

**Encrypted Email from Joan Girardi-Rove to Grace Polonski dated November 15.**

The whole family – Adam and me, the parents, Kevin and Lily – are going to Massachusetts this weekend to celebrate Luke's birthday. Sorry you can't attend, but I suppose you and Luke could do one of those dream things. I remember how you guys celebrated Luke's last birthday! First time for both of you, wasn't it?

Sunday Adam and I will head back to Baconia, but we'll go by train, and we have an idea about something to do about the briefcase jerks.

**Encrypted Email from Grace Poloncki to Joan Girardi-Rove dated November 16.**

I'm glad you're making a big deal of the birthday – I remember the fiasco two years ago. And I'm glad you've decided to fight back. I'm just stuck here in an office, thousands of kilometers from where things are happening. After about a week there's another expedition to the valley, and I can go with them and rejoin my team. It'll be fun to get my butt back in a saddle instead of an office chair, but not for three days running.

And it's none of your business what Luke and I do in our dreams.

**Article from online edition of the Boston Banner, dated Monday November 20, 2009**

**POTENTIAL LAWBREAKER CAUGHT MAROON-HANDED?**

On Sunday, November 19, at 11:50 A.M., a paint-sprayer went off in a stall in a Men's Room of the central railroad station. It was not a powerful effect; the brunt of the force was received by the current occupant of the stall, who was splattered with maroon-colored paint. Just why he would trigger a paint-sprayer was not at all clear.

Security agents rushing onto the scene saw a man exit a stall, the front of his clothes soaked in maroon-colored paint and grasping the handle of an open briefcase, also maroon. The only contents of the briefcase was a compressed-air device, evidently used to spray the paint, and a wood-block with the word REVENGE carved in it. They arrested him for violating the anti-grafitti ordinance, although much more paint got on him than on the wall. Presumably they hope to straighten him out at police headquarters

_**An unencrypted Email from Sergeant Malone, Cambridge City Police, to Will Girardi, Arcadia City Police, November 20, 2006**_

Dear Will,

I've enclosed an article from the local tabloids, about a booby-trapped briefcase that sprayed paint on the man that opened it. Everyone thinks it's funny, but actually, it seems to be related to the attack on your son. The man who was splattered by the paint calls himself Mel the Messenger, who has a long record of minor charges. He says that he is innocent of any crime and in fact was anxious to give the police a lot of information, even after being Miranda'ed, to "prove" it and to get even with whoever planted that booby-trap.

Mel said that for the past two months, some shadowy figures had offered him a lot of money for some "courier service". The service always involved maroon-colored briefcases. He would be paid to drop off a briefcase at some location, or to pick up an abandoned one, and never ask questions. He pointed out that none of this is technically illegal. On one occasion he was told to stuff some papers in a briefcase in a café, and that had some unpleasant consequences.

Apparently he put the papers in the wrong briefcase, belonging to somebody else, and his employers were very annoyed. They not only refused to pay him but threatened him with some vague reprisals. However, they did not fire him outright.

On Sunday he was sitting in the train station, a frequent transfer point, when he saw a young woman walk by with a maroon briefcase with the proper markings. He couldn't give a detailed description of her – thick brown hair, he said, and a rather broad face, maybe about 20 years old. She put the briefcase in a storage locker and went off. Later he tried the storage locker and found that she had left it unlocked, and he didn't think it was an accident, so he took the briefcase. To avoid "misunderstanding", he decided to open it in the privacy of the restroom, which was largely empty on Sunday morning. That's when the paint-sprayer went off.

Mel is convinced that his employers played a mean practical joke on him, and he wanted to get even by denouncing them to the police as possible smugglers. At the same time, he asserted that HE had committed no crime. Technically he was right, and the Boston police were forced to let him go.

They checked on the storage locker, of course. The young lady left her name as Jane Adams, but the address was fictitious and they haven't been able to locate her.

The suspicion of course, is that these briefcases were containing something contraband, most likely drugs. The break-in at your son's dorm involved a maroon briefcase; maybe the burglars thought it was one of theirs. The Boston police asked various office-supply stores if they have sold a lot of maroon briefcases to a single client, and they asked us to do the same in Cambridge. They actually have a couple of leads: companies that placed a bulk order for maroon briefcases, which would have their company logo imprinted on them later. I can't say more than that, except that a really brainy operation would have bought the briefcases anonymously and separately, and not left a paper trail.

We will notify you again once we have more information.

_**An unencrypted Email from Helen Girardi to Joan Girardi-Rove, November 22, 2006**_

All right, Joan, I'm not stupid. Even Will is suspicious. Adam would know how to obtain a paint-sprayer and a special color of paint on short notice, and also how to carve wood quickly. Luke could probably rig up the sprayer to go off when the briefcase was opened. And a girl with thick brown hair who uses Jane as an alias, and who was at the Boston train station Sunday morning?

But it seems that all of you have gotten away with this prank. Mel the Mess blamed his smugglers, and presumably the smugglers won't hear about this unless they get safely locked up. Please don't try a stunt like this again.

The four of us – you, Adam, Luke, maybe even include Grace – need to talk.

(_Author's Note) The spray-paint trick was taken from a third-season episode of VERONICA MARS, though I don't remember which one._

_(Author's Note) The "Boston Banner" is an imaginary tabloid that I made up._

TBC


	12. The Ripples Subside

**RIPPLES AROUND THE WORLD**

**Chapter 12 The Ripples Subside**

_**An encrypted Email from Joan Girardi-Rove to Luke Girardi, dated November 22, 2006**_

I had a bit of a scare this evening – but don't worry, I'm not hurt. I had done some evening work in the library, and started back toward our flat. The campus and town are normally safe enough. But this huge guy suddenly appeared in front of me, definitely too old to be a student, and I was frightened. Then he spoke, and I was scared for another reason.

"Joan, vengeance is mine, I shall repay, saith the Lord." It was Tough Guy God.

"Um, do we owe each other something?" I asked nervously.

"No, Joan, that's not what I'm talking about. You took some personal revenge on the Briefcase Gang, and that sort of thing has bad ripples."

I explained our reasoning. The gang would have no reason to blame us. From their point of view they had found nothing in your room that would imply that he was a threat to them; the lab visit and the possession of the maroon briefcase were coincidences. Even if they saw me store the briefcase at the train station, they had no reason to recognize me or connect me with you. According to Dad, in fact, Mel the Mess had blamed his employers and given the police clues how to track them down. "And we were on one of your missions, right?"

"Your mission was to look out for maroon briefcases, and by extension, to report to the authorities any wrongdoing that you witnessed in the process."

"Well, yeah. But isn't there something in the Bible about walking an extra mile?"

"It doesn't apply here, Joan. Let me explain. If we rely on revenge to punish wrongdoing, somebody who wrongs an angry, violent, or powerful victim will receive more punishment than somebody who wrongs a mild, forgiving, or weak victim. There's no justice in that. Your country has institutions that try to administer impartial justice; rely on them."

"They're certainly taking their time about it."

"Because they are constrained by rules to keep them fair. Look, if you are impatient, I will make you a prophecy. The crackdown on the Briefcase Gang will succeed and the racket will be ended. SEED's research will determine that the attempt to violate their patent originated with the governor of a province beset by a terrible famine. The corrupt national government under which he lived was afraid to let foreign observers in. SEED's compromise will be to grant tones of grain to the province, and to allow it to send farmers and agricultural experts to the US for training, instead of SEEDS sending its own representatives abroad. In fact, your cousins the Cavalos will let their farm be used for some of the lessons. The official that hired the Briefcase Gang has agreed to admit his guilt and turn himself over to US authorities. He did wrong but with good intentions, always a complex case for me to judge."

"Umm," I mumbled.

"What?"

"So you've just given us the solution. It's so much more fun to sleuth for it, like Sherlock Holmes or my friend Veronica Mars."

"Justice isn't supposed to be 'fun', Joan." Suddenly the Tough Guy started chuckling. "Though, I admit, watching that petty criminal spray paint all over himself was hilarious! Bye, Joan." He walked off, still laughing, with that wave of his.

Well, that's it. It looks like we should drop the briefcase matter, and be less aggressive in the future. Now we need to see what Mom wants.

_**An encrypted Email from Helen Girardi to Luke Girardi-Rove, and Adam Rove, dated November 22, 2006**_

Okay, this is going to be embarrassing. There are some things that Will and I prefer to keep private from your kids. But this is important, and besides we're all adults now. Even Luke, as of this week.

Here's the problem: I had a rather unpleasant discussion with Will last night. To put it mildly, Will is very upset. He knows that the three of us, plus Grace, have a system of communication, and that he is outside what he calls the Charmed Circle. He doesn't know the reason, and it will be difficult to tell him the truth, and I don't want to lie. So we must let him have the encryption. Plus Kevin and Lily, if they want it.

_**An encrypted Email from Luke Girardi to Helen Girardi, cc to Joan Girardi-Rove and Adam Rove, dated November 22, 2006**_

But, Mom, he'll read up on God and the missions and ask awkward questions. And he's still unlikely to believe about God.

_**An encrypted Email from Helen Girardi to Luke Girardi, Joan Girardi-Rove, and Adam Rove dated November 22, 2006**_

I know that. And the solution to that will be to delete the messages, or at least archive them somewhere – and do that openly. I think Will will understand the principle there, that messages sent with the expectation of privacy should remain private. Particularly since Grace was involved. But our messages in the future will be open.

_**An encrypted Email from Joan Girardi-Rove to Helen Girardi, cc to Luke Girardi, dated November 22, 2006**_

But Mom, how can we talk about God from now on, if we can't kryptonite our Email? Luke and Grace can do the dream thing, but the rest of us?

_**An encrypted Email from Helen Girardi to Luke Girardi, Joan Girardi-Rove, and Adam Rove dated November 22, 2006**_

Oh, you kids! Think everything was invented in the last twenty years. There are phones, Joan! And letters, even if your generation insists on calling them "snail mail". Maybe more awkward, but I think family harmony is worth it.

_**An encrypted Email from Joan Girardi-Rove to Helen Girardi and Luke Girardi, dated November 22, 2006**_

OK, I agree. And Adam says he'll go along with the plan.

_**An encrypted Email from Luke Girardi to Joan Girardi-Rove, Helen Girardi and Adam Rove, dated November 22, 2006**_

I'll figure a way to archive our former messages, then. Maybe on the university computer; I got a separate account there.

_**An encrypted Email from Helen Girardi to Luke Girardi, Joan Girardi-Rove, and Adam Rove dated November 22, 2006**_

Good. And it needn't be forever. I'm confident that someday, I'll be able to talk to Will and explain our secret without looking like lunatics. Then we can get our Emails back out of storage. Who knows, it may make an interesting story someday.

THE END.


End file.
